means. But still, I affirm, those very disappointments of a virtuous man are greater pleasures than the utmost gratifications and successes of a mere selflover.

The great and sudden event which has just now happened, puts the whole world (I mean this whole world) into a new state. The only use I have, shall, or wish to make of it, is to observe the disparity of men from themselves in a week's time; the desultory leaping and catching of new motions, new modes, new measures; and that strange spirit and life, with which men broken and disappointed resume their hopes, their solicitations, their ambitions! It would be worth your while as a philosopher, to be busy in these observations, and to come hither to see the fury and bustle of the bees this hot season, without coming so near as to be stung by them. Your, &c.

LETTER IV.

June 17, 1728.

AFTER the publishing my boyish letters to Mr. Cromwell, you will not wonder if I should forswear writing a letter again while I live; since I do not correspond with a friend upon the terms of any other free subject of this kingdom. But to you I can never be silent, or reserved; and, I am sure, my opinion of your heart is such, that I could open mine to you in no manner which I could fear the whole world should know. I could publish my own heart too, I will venture to say, for any mischief or malice there is in it; but a little too much folly or weakness might (I fear) appear, to make such a spectacle either instructive or agreeable to others.

* The death of K. George the First, which happened the 11th of June, 1727.-Warburton.

I am reduced to beg of all my acquaintance to secure me from the like usage for the future, by returning me any letters of mine which they may have preserved; that I may not be hurt, after my death, by that which was the happiness of my life, their partiality and affection to me.

I have nothing of myself to tell you, only that I have had but indifferent health. I have not made a visit to London. Curiosity and the love of dissipation die apace in me. I am not glad nor sorry for it, but I am very sorry for those who have nothing else to

live on.

I have read much, but writ no more. I have small hopes of doing good, no vanity in writing, and little ambition to please a world not very candid or deserving. If I can preserve the good opinion of a few friends, it is all I can expect, considering how little good I can do even to them to merit it. Few people have your candour, or are so willing to think well of another from whom they receive no benefit, and gratify no vanity. But of all the soft sensations, the greatest pleasure is to give and receive mutual trust. It is by belief and firm hope, that men are made happy in this life, as well as in the other. My confidence in your good opinion, and dependance upon that of one or two more, is the chief cordial drop I taste, amidst the insipid, the disagreeable, the cloying, or the dead-sweet, which are the common draughts of life. Some pleasures are too pert, as well as others too flat, to be relished long; and vivacity in some cases is worse than dulness. Therefore indeed for many years I have not chosen my companions for any of the qualities in fashion, but almost entirely for that which is the most out of fashion, sincerity. Before I am aware of it, I am making your panegyric, and perhaps my own too; for next to possessing the best qualities, is the esteeming and

distinguishing those who possess them. I truly love and value you, and so I stop short.

LETTER V.

August 9, 1733. You might well think me negligent or forgetful of you, if true friendship and sincere esteem were to be measured by common forms and compliments. The truth is, I could not write then, without saying something of my own condition, and of my loss of so old and so deserving a parent, which really would have troubled you; or I must have kept a silence upon that head, which would not have suited that freedom and sincere opening of the heart which is due to you from me. I am now pretty well; but my home is uneasy to me still, and I am therefore wandering about all this summer. I was but four days at Twickenham since the occasion that made it so melancholy. I have been a fortnight in Essex, and am now at Dawley, (whose master is your servant,) and going to Cirencester to Lord Bathurst. I shall also see Southampton with Lord Peterborough. The court and Twitenham I shall forsake together. I wish I did not leave our friend 5, who deserves more quiet, and more health and happiness, than can be found in such a family. The rest of my acquaintance are tolerably happy, in their various ways of life, whether court, country, or town; and Mr. Cleland is as well in the park, as if he were in Paradise. I heartily hope Yorkshire is the same to you; and that no evil, moral or physical, may come near you.

I have now but too much melancholy leisure, and no other care but to finish my Essay on Man. There

5 Mrs. B.-Warburton.

will be in it one line that may offend you, I fear; and yet I will not alter or omit it, unless you come to town and prevent me before I print it, which will be in a fortnight in all probability. In plain truth, I will not deny myself the greatest pleasure I am capable of receiving, because another may have the modesty not to share it. It is all a poor poet can do, to bear testimony to the virtue he cannot reach; besides that, in this age, I see too few good examples not to lay hold on any I can find. You see what an interested man I am. Adieu.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

LETTER VI.

I CONTINUE ill, and have been the worse for the same northerly winds that have affected you so much. This day they are getting into another quarter, and I hope will continue out of the bad one. I have had the bishop's book as a present, and have read it with a good deal of pleasure; but my own doctors having disagreed with your Yorkshire Dr. Thomson, on the use of waters in a dropsical asthma, I am at present confined only to gum ammoniac, sal volatile, and sena, in small quantities, and to take comfortable things, rather than much physic. I have severely suffered, but am obliged to your brother for the wine, which was very good. I long to see you, whenever you can come. I am utterly unable to come to you. I am now so weak that I can hardly read or write at present, but shall as soon as I can. I feel all my friendship for all my friends as strongly as ever, and for you as much as any. Heaven preserve you!

6 Now first printed.

A. POPE.

of a

7 In this letter Pope has been obliged to have recourse to the pen friend. It is in all probability the last of his correspondence.